


Ocelots dream in the jungle

by captainhurricane



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, masturbation without plot, mgs3-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adamska realizes something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocelots dream in the jungle

It takes Ocelot approximately a week to fall in love and a day to realize it has happened. It hits him out of the blue, right there in the odd chill of Groznyj Grad and he has to stop and blink. The window is open to bring in the chill to their hiding place. (Somewhere, Volgin prowls the halls and thunder rattles in his fingers.)

”Major?” Comes a whisper from his left side, one of his soldier is cleaning his weapon and now gazes at him with careful curiousity. They’re used to their quirky commander’s antics, to this twenty-something man of heavy legacy but rarely does Revolver Ocelot hold such an expression.

”Uh,” murmurs Ocelot, Adamska, the one who will be known as Shalashaska once the world has moved on from the shadow of Cold War.

”It’s nothing.” Ocelot raises a hand to his mouth and gets up, realizing that his knees feel wobbly.

”I’m going to.. I’m going to go for a walk,” he huffs and waves a hand to the only awake soldier of his, whose hair is ruffled and eyes wide.

”But Major-” the protest is cut off once Ocelot slams the door closed. His spurs go click, click on the stone floors.

Snake. Snake. Ocelot finds his fingers curling into fists and crosses his arms as he steps out of the stronghold and into the jungle. Snake, he thinks. That man is no snake, had grinned like a prowling predator instead like he had known exactly what went through Ocelot’s mind and deemed it amusing.

”Treating me like a kid,” Ocelot grumbles aloud and wanders further away from the door, waving a hand to the curious guard patrolling the perimeter. He’s alert but disinterested, perhaps a mercenary hired by Volgin and not interested in a Russian boy trying to be a man. Ocelot glares but wanders further until he reaches a clearing and can be alone with his thoughts.

Oh, how Snake would laugh at him now. Only children would do such things, he’d say. You’re pretty good, Ocelot had said, embarrassed and ashamed. He sits down on a tree trunk and brushes his short blond strands with his bare fingers, more than slightly horrified at his realization just why his meetings with Snake had bothered him.

”This is unreal,” he murmurs aloud and can feel his face burning at the humiliation Snake had given him. That American dog, graceful even with such a muscular physique, voice growly enough to get under Ocelot’s skin. He swallows and tries to think about Snake the other way. The man is an enemy anyway, what does he care that he has piercing eyes and would probably look incredibly good naked?

Ocelot swallows, brushes his hair again. Shifts on his make-shift seat. His boots thump against the grass, the smell of the jungle invades his nostrils.

”I’m not a fucking little girl. Men don’t have crushes on other men,” he huffs but knows those words aren’t his but the words of his society and the world around him. He drops his hand between his legs, bites his lip. His free hand presses against his eyes. Their goddamn fortress is only a couple of minutes away, what is he doing with this, thinking about Snake who overthrew him with practiced ease and laughed about it. Ocelot sneaks a hand into his pants and starts stroking, his dick already half-hard by the time he curls his fingers around it.

”Ow,” he huffs and swallows again. He spits into his hand and tries again, this time creating a proper friction. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s Snake, that filthy American dog with his dark stubble, perhaps even now meeting up with that- woman- Ocelot rubs his free hand against his face while his other one caresses and squeezes himself until he’s panting and bucking against his hand. Snake would probably be rough with him, press him down and keep him there, murmur; kid, don’t hold back to Ocelot and then fuck him with a cock that can’t be anything but thick and hard and painful.

Ocelot bites his hand before slipping both of them into his pants, one continuing to stroke his cock, while the other slips further back to brush his entrance. Ocelot bites down on his lip and whimpers, losing himself easily to the fantasy of Snake, breathing in the deep scent of earth and the slithering of snakes on the grass.

”S-Snake-” slips out between his lips as he climaxes, spilling himself on his hand, some ending up on his clothes and the grass.

It takes him fifteen minutes to clean up suitably and leave the clearing. His knees are wobbly. You did good, kid, murmurs the fantasy of Snake and dissipates. Ocelot grits his teeth as he walks to one of the cramped bathrooms in the building, finishing cleaning up properly.

”Yes, I’m just bothered by him. That’s all,” he murmurs and stares for a moment at his face in the mirror. High cheekbones. Blond hair cut according to military regulations. His usual jacket wrinkly and open. Blue eyes that now only hold the haze of a mediocre orgasm and sleep. Ocelot sneers and ignores the way his insides throb at the possibility of meeting Snake again so soon, of seeing that grace of a warrior more experienced than him.

He downs a shot of vodka and goes to sleep in his private cot curled up. He dreams of Snake, this man called John who still bothers to throw a grin when needed. He dreams of Snake who burns the world as he walks and wakes up sweating and incredibly, horribly turned on.


End file.
